New York Dead (22 page)
“What exactly do you have in mind, Bill?”
“You could be very useful to us; let me give you some typical examples. One: a client’s son and heir, who has a three-hundred-dollar-a-week allowance, is, inexplicably, caught selling an ounce of cocaine on his college campus. We need somebody who can show up at the station house, talk to the cop in charge, deal with the DA, and get the charges dropped or reduced to a misdemeanor that the kid can plead to as a youthful offender and that will, in time, be expunged from his record. Two: the kid does something really bad—rapes his date, batters, maybe even murders her. We’ll need our own investigation into the events, and we’ll need to know how the cops and the DA are thinking. A third: A client suspects his wife of having an affair; we need to know for sure, before we can proceed for him.
That’s not the whole range of problems that might arise, but it’s a good sampling.”
“I see.” This sounded better than hanging around the criminal courts, picking up burglary and drunk-driving cases.
“Let me lay it out for you. We don’t want you to join the firm, as such. Not yet, anyway. What we’d like you to do is set up your own practice, a professional corporation, which would be associated with us.”
“You realize I haven’t even passed the bar yet.”
“Oh, I forgot; that was my news. You passed.”
“Now how the hell could you know that? I only took the exam yesterday.”
“Friend of a friend had access. He pulled your papers, looked them over, and he reckons you’ll finish in the top third, and, since the New York State bar is the toughest in the country, that’s damn good. It’s not official, of course, but you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Bill, this friend of a friend didn’t…improve my score, did he?”
Eggers looked shocked. “Absolutely not. There’s been no tampering here, you don’t need to worry about that. I told you, we’re an ethical firm. Information was all we were after, and that’s all we got; no law was broken; we don’t do that.”
“Well, in that case, thanks. It’s a load off my mind.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, we want you to be at our disposal. Of course, you can’t actually practice law until your admittance to the bar is official, but you can advise and investigate. In a trial, you can sit at the defense table and whisper into our man’s ear. Then, when you’re admitted, you can accept cases of your own. We just want priority.”
“On what basis?”
“When we hire a freshly admitted associate, the current starting salary is fifty-five thousand. We propose to offer you
a retainer of seventy-five thousand dollars annually, against an hourly rate of a hundred and twenty-five dollars.”
“What’s your hourly rate, Bill?”
“Two fifty to three fifty, depending, but I’ve been with the firm for twelve years and a partner for eight. Don’t misunderstand me, Stone, it’s not our intention to keep you at arm’s length forever. We’re feeling our way, here, with a new kind of association for us. If this works out the way I hope it will, then you would eventually join the firm, and, sometime in the future, a partnership might come into the picture.”
“Would you care to be a little more specific about ‘eventually’ and ‘sometime in the future’?”
“No. I can’t be. This is simply too new a situation for us. But I’ll tell you what I tell our new associates: there are no guarantees, but if you work your ass off for the firm, if you show you can bring in business of your own, and if you can make our clients trust you, then a partnership is almost inevitable. That’s what they told me when I joined, and it was true. Of course, under the terms we’re offering you, any new business you bring in will be yours entirely. Then, if and when you join us, you bring your clients with you.”
Stone leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Bill, I accept. I’m delighted to accept. And, I’ll tell you the truth, this could not have come along at a better time.”
Eggers leaned forward. “A cash pinch?”
Stone told him about the situation with the house and his bankers.
Eggers took out a pad and made some notes. “You’re being badly treated, and I think we can correct that. May I represent you in this matter?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I’ll get you an advance against your first quarter’s retainer, too.”
“Thank you, Bill; that would certainly take the pressure off.”
Eggers stuck out a hand. “Welcome aboard.”
Stone shook it. “When do I start to work?”
“Tomorrow. We’ve got a couple of things in-house you can look at and advise on. And I think I’ll have an investigative job for you soon.”
Stone walked home, not even noticing the light rain. He was employed. He wouldn’t have to sell the house. The thought of marriage—suppressed because of his financial condition—broke through into his frontal lobe. He flashed ahead five years: he was a partner at Woodman & Weld; the house was beautiful, and it was his; he and Cary were throwing elegant dinner parties in his elegant dining room; maybe there was a child. Maybe two. Things were suddenly falling into place.
A miracle had occurred. He didn’t pause to wonder what it might cost him.
Chapter
W
hen Stone got home, Dino was standing on the front stoop, back against the door, trying to stay out of the rain.
“Hi, Dino,” Stone said.
“Hi, Can I buy you a drink?”
“Come on in, let me buy you one.”
“Nah, I hate the smell of paint and sawdust. Let’s go someplace.”
“All right.”
They walked silently up Third Avenue to P. J. Clarke’s and leaned on the corner of the bar.
“The usual?”
“Fine.”
“A Wild Turkey and a Stoly, both rocks,” Dino said to the barman. “Make em doubles.”
They both looked idly around until the drinks came.
Dino held up his glass. “Better days.”
Stone nodded and drank.
Dino gulped a quarter of the vodka. “I feel bad about what happened,” he said.
“It’s okay, Dino. Maybe it was all for the best.” He told Dino about his dinner with Bill Eggers.
“That’s great, Stone, and I’m happy for you, but it’s still not okay with me. You were my partner, and I should have at least warned you what was coming. I didn’t know myself until that morning.”
“You were my partner, too, and I didn’t back you up,” Stone said.
“Yeah, but you were right, that’s the difference. I was wrong, and because of what I did Morgan croaked herself.”
Stone said nothing.
“I took the call,” Dino said, blinking.
Stone still said nothing.
“She was in the bathtub, and it looked like the tub was full of blood.”
“Jesus,” Stone allowed himself.
“She had a straight razor. God knows what she was doing with it, even if she was a dyke. You think she was keeping it in case she grew a beard?”
Stone shrugged.
“She stuck it in right under her left ear and pulled it all the way around, deep.”
Stone winced.
“She had guts, I’ll say that for her. I couldn’t never do that, not in a million years. Pills, maybe. Maybe eat your gun, but you don’t die right away when you cut your own throat. It must hurt like all hell, and you got time to think about what you done before you go under.” Dino shifted his weight and took another deep pull from his glass. “She left a note.”
“The papers didn’t say anything about that,” Stone said, surprised.
Dino took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Stone.
Stone read it.
I have never harmed another human being in my life. I did not harm Sasha Nijinsky. I loved her, and she loved me, and I would never have done anything to hurt her.
I want my friends to know that this is not a suicide. This is murder, and the police are the murderers.
“You can see why you didn’t read about it in the papers,” Dino said, taking the note back. He took a pack of matches from an ashtray on the bar, lit the note, watched it burn. “You know something? I went to confession. I didn’t go to confession since I was fourteen, but I went yesterday. As part of my penance, I had to tell you this stuff. I didn’t do the rest of the penance; I’m not going to. But I wanted to do this part.”
“Thanks, Dino, I know what it cost you.”
“Don’t be so fucking nice about it, Stone. I wouldn’t have said a word to you, but I know you won’t say nothing to nobody about this.”
Stone nodded.
“I always been good at looking out for my own ass,” Dino said. “Sometimes I fall in the shit, but I come up smelling like a rose, you know?”
Stone laughed. “I know.”
“Nah, you don’t know. I made detective first grade today. Ain’t that a kick in the balls? I get a promotion I would have killed for—” He stopped and laughed ironically. “Shit, I guess I did kill for it, didn’t I?”
“Congratulations, Dino.” Stone raised his glass.
Dino drank with him. “They made me deputy squad commander, too. Leary’s retiring the end of the year, and I’m getting the job, Delgado says.”
“That’s great, Dino,” Stone said, but it was a statement of sympathy.
“Yeah, get me off the street some, I guess. Teach me a sense of responsibility.”
“You’ll be good at it. Look out for the politics, though.”
“What politics? I’m not going anywhere after that. I’m never going to be chief of detectives—they know it, and I know it. Shit, I never expected to make detective first, to tell the truth. Nah, there’s no politics to worry about. I’m bought and paid for. I’ll do what I’m told and like it.”
Stone couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Sounds like I’m feeling sorry for myself, don’t it? Well, I am, I guess. I found out how far I’d go to cover my ass, and I feel terrible about it.” He tossed down the rest of his drink and squared his shoulders. “I’ll get over it, though. In a week or two, or when I get Leary’s little cubicle, I’ll look around and say to myself, ‘Hey, this ain’t half bad, you know? These fuckers have to do what I tell ‘em now! I’m the fucking boss!’ And I’ll start to feel okay about it. And come spring, I’ll forget all about Hank Morgan and how she took a bath in her own blood. I’m good at that—forgetting what a shit I was about something. I’ll forget that I wasn’t the world’s greatest detective, too, that I was lazy and shiftless a lot of the time, that I didn’t give much of a shit about my job. I’ll forget all that, and when the next batch of detective thirds cruises into the precinct, I’ll give ‘em the pep talk, tell ‘em how it was when I was scratching for promotion, how hard I worked on a case, how many righteous busts I had. I’ll be a hard ass, just like Leary—shit, worse than Leary.”
“Sure, you will.”
Dino picked up the heavy doubles glass and heaved it across the bar. The mirror on the other side shattered, and chunks of glass fell among the liquor bottles, breaking some of them.
The dozen people standing at the bar and the two bartenders froze, staring at Dino.
Finally, a bartender, a red-haired, freckle-faced Irishman who looked right off the boat, spoke up. “The last one o’ dose got broke cost eight hundred bucks, Dino,” he said sadly. “And that was six, seven years ago. They prob’ly went up.” He looked at the mess, shaking his head. “And dere’s the booze, too.”
Dino put a fifty-dollar bill on the bar. “That’s for our drinks, Danny,” he said calmly, “and the change is for your trouble. Send me a bill for the rest.”
The bartender nodded and began picking up glass. The customers went back to their drinking as if nothing had happened.
Outside, the rain had stopped, and the night had turned clear and frosty. Dino hailed a cab. “Stone,” he said, while the cab waited, “I owe you. I’m always gonna owe you. You call me any time you need something. Anytime.”
Stone nodded. They shook hands. Dino got into the cab and drove off into the night. Stone walked home thinking that both he and Dino had done all right out of Sasha Nijinsky’s trouble.
The only loser had been Hank Morgan.
Chapter
S
tone sat in Frank Woodman’s large office and sipped strong coffee.
“Stone, I’m very pleased that you’re going to be…associated with us,” Woodman was saying. “I think that, with your help, we can take what has been a nongainful irritant and turn it into a profit center for the firm. That’s with you fully on board, of course, after our initial feeling-out period.”
“Frank, I should tell you that, for the long term, I’m really more interested in a general practice than solely criminal work, and I’d appreciate it if, after I’m admitted to the bar, you’d consider putting me on an occasional noncriminal case.”
“I understand your feelings, and I’ll keep that in mind.”
Warren Weld, the other name on the door, spoke up. “Are you interested in corporate work, Stone?”
“Not really, Warren. I think I’d prefer to represent individuals.”
“That puts you right back in Frank’s bailiwick, then.” Weld stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve got a meeting. Welcome aboard, Stone.”
They shook hands, and Weld left, leaving only Frank Woodman and Bill Eggers in the room with Stone.
“Bill, you take Stone back to your office, will you? I’ve got a client coming in.” Woodman stood and shook Stone’s hand. “I think Bill already has a couple of things for you, Stone. He’ll brief you.”
They returned to Eggers’s office and sat down.
“Frank had a word with your banker yesterday—we keep our trust account at your branch, so we have a little pull there. You’re off the hook for the principal reduction they were demanding. You’ll still have to make the interest payment, though.”
“Thank you, Bill, that’s good news.”
Eggers handed him an envelope. “And here’s ten grand against your retainer.”
“You’re full of good news,” Stone said. “Thanks again.”
“Not at all.” Eggers looked at his watch. “There’s somebody I want you to meet, Stone. He’s due in here in ten minutes.”
“A client?”
“Son of a client. The father is Robert Keene, of Keene, Bailey & Miller advertising.”
